Authors: Dan Chernenko
And life could go on for Sponsa. One day, she might marry someone who suited her. She probably had no idea how lucky she was. She wouldn't have to find out, either. Maybe that made her the luckiest one of all.
Sleet coated everything outside with ice. The sky was gray as granite. Grus' mood matched the weather. He'd tried to arrange another match for Ortalis. This time, he'd thought he would try subtlety, hinting to the father of the prospective bride instead of coming right out and asking for her hand. That way, he could get some idea of how the noble felt without putting either one of them on the spot.
He hadn't been subtle enough. Before he could get around to asking the question that needed asking, the noble and his whole family had packed up and left - fled - for the countryside. Grus couldn't very well ask him if he wasn't in the city of Avornis to ask. If he wasn't there to ask, he didn't have to say no, either.
In his bedchamber, Grus drummed his fingers on a bedside table. "I ought to send a letter after him," he growled. "Then he'd have to give me a yes or a no."
"I wouldn't," Estrilda said, "not unless he's someone you really want to get rid of."
She was right. Grus knew as much. That did nothing to improve his temper. "By the gods, the King of Avornis shouldn't have this much trouble finding a wife for his only son."
"Only legitimate son," Estrilda murmured.
"Only legitimate son." Grus accepted the correction. Throwing his hands in the air, he cried, "Is Ortalis that much of a monster?"
Estrilda didn't answer.
Grus felt the silence stretch. He stared at her.
"Is
he?" he demanded. "He's not
that
bad, and he's been getting better."
"Yes, he has been," Estrilda said. "But better isn't the same as good. The stories about what he did with - to - those serving women haven't gotten any smaller in the telling."
"That was a while ago now, and I think I put the fear of Olor's judgment in him - or if not of Olor's, then at least of mine," Grus said. "He hasn't done anything outrageous for a long time." He didn't like listening to his own words. He sounded like someone trying to make a bad case sound good.
"Not so very long ago, he had an argument - a loud argument - with Anser," his wife said. "It was something to do with hunting, and I suppose it was why they stopped going out together. That's all I know. Nobody who knows any more than that seems to want to talk about it."
"I wonder who could tell me," Grus said.
"Either of your sons could," Estrilda said, a small taste of vinegar in her voice.
Grus clicked his tongue between his teeth. "I'm not going to ask Ortalis." He'd just passed judgment on the prince, but he didn't realize it. Thoughtfully, he went on, "Maybe Anser would talk."
"Maybe he would." Estrilda had trouble keeping that same sour edge to her tone. Yes, everyone liked her husband's bastard boy.
"I think I'll find out," Grus said.
But when he paid a call on the arch-hallow a couple of days later, Anser only shrugged and said, "I'm sorry, Your Majesty, but I'm afraid I don't remember."
"I don't believe you," Grus said bluntly.
"That's ... too bad, isn't it?" his by-blow said. "I don't know what else to tell you." He looked nervous, as though he expected Grus to call for the torturer. And, had he not been flesh of Grus' flesh, the king would have been tempted.
Instead, Grus snapped, "You're not doing anyone a favor by keeping silent." Anser only shrugged - silently. Thwarted, Grus muttered something he never would have said in the presence of any other Arch-Hallow of Avornis. Grus stalked away.
He was still steaming when he returned to the royal palace. Had he run into Ortalis, it might have gone hard for his legitimate son. He didn't, though - he ran into Alca.
He brightened at once. "By the gods, I'm glad to see you!" he said.
"Are you, Your Majesty?" The witch seemed not at all sure she was glad to see him.
"Yes, I am. Can you use your wizardry to figure out what was said in an argument between Ortalis and Anser a while ago?"
"How long is a while?" Alca asked.
"I'm not sure, not to the minute," Grus answered. "Weeks, months - something like that. When we were down in the south."
Alca shook her head. "I'm sorry, but wizardry won't do. What you need is a miracle. The gods give those. You might get one from the Banished One. From me?" She shook her head again. "No."
"A pestilence," Grus said. "I really need to know." He explained why, finishing, "Whatever this is, it's keeping people from wanting to marry their daughters to Ortalis." It probably wasn't the only thing keeping them from wanting to marry their daughters to Ortalis, but Grus preferred not to dwell on that.
Alca's eyebrows came down and together as she thought. "I can't bring back the argument itself, Your Majesty. Maybe I could make your son remember it. Would that do?"
"It might," Grus answered. "Could you make sure he didn't remember remembering it?"
"I think so," the witch said.
"Could you do it here and now, or would you need fancy preparations?"
"Here and now - somewhere off in a quiet room, anyhow - would do. It's not that complicated."
"All right, then. I really need to find out." Grus shouted for the servants. He pointed to several of them in turn. "Bring me Prince Ortalis. If he's in the palace, I want him here as fast as he can get here. Understand me?"
By the way they dashed off, they did. Alca ducked into a chamber close by. Ortalis came up to Grus only moments after the witch left the corridor. "What do you want?" Grus' son asked, adding, "I didn't do anything."
Not lately, anyhow,
the king thought. "I want to talk with you," he answered, and pointed to the room into which Alca had just gone. "Let's do it in there."
"What do you think I've done now?" Ortalis asked. "You always think I've done something, and I haven't, not this time. Not lately. I really haven't." He sounded as though he meant it.
"Well, then, everything's fine, isn't it?" Grus said smoothly. "Come on. You'll see."
Ortalis didn't look happy, but he didn't argue anymore, either. To Grus, that proved his son didn't think he'd done anything wrong. Ortalis barely had time to notice Alca and start to turn toward her before the witch said, "Hold, Ortalis son of Grus son of Crex!" And Ortalis
did
hold - his feet might suddenly have frozen to the floor.
His expression froze, too. Grus didn't like that reproachful stare. He was glad his son wouldn't remember this. "May I ask him questions?" he said in a low voice.
"Go ahead," Alca told him. "He will answer truthfully, and he will forget he's done it."
"Thank you." Grus turned to Ortalis. "Do you hear me?"
"I hear you." Ortalis' voice was soft and dull.
"All right, then. What was your quarrel with Anser about?"
"Which quarrel with Anser?"
After some thought, Grus said, "The bad one. The one you don't want anybody to know about."
When the Prince was done, Grus knew much more than he wished he did. Quietly, Alca asked, "And did you truly mean this, or were you only joking?"
Even with the magic driving him, Ortalis was a long time silent. "I don't know," he said at last. "It would have been fun, but" - a shrug - "people don't seem to like that kind of thing."
"'People don't seem to like that kind of thing,'" Grus echoed bitterly. "Well, at least he's noticed. Maybe that's something. Maybe." He gestured to Alca. "Wake him up. He's given me what I wanted to find out."
The witch murmured a charm. She slipped out of the room through a back door before Ortalis stirred, blinked, and nodded to his father. "Well, what do you want to talk about?" he asked.
"Never mind, Son," Grus answered with a sigh. "It's not important."
"See? I told you. I didn't do anything." Ortalis swaggered to the front door and out.
As soon as that front door closed, Alca returned. "Well?" she asked.
"Well," Grus said, "I don't suppose he has to get married right away."
The mustachioed monkeys looked out through the window at the swirling snow. A carefully screened fireplace kept their
room warm. They didn't know what the bad weather meant. It
interested them just the same. Their black eyes swung to Lanius, as though asking what he had to do with it. "Sorry," he told them. "I can't make it go away." By their expressions - so much more humanlike than those of the moncats - they didn't believe him. He was in charge of their food and water. Why wasn't he in charge of the weather as well?
"I wish I
could
change it," he said. "Believe me, I would." They didn't believe him. He could tell. One of them turned its back, almost as though it were an affronted courtier. They both retreated closer to the fire. Remembering the warning from the Chernagor who'd given them to him, Lanius hoped he could bring them safely through the cold season of the year.
A knock on the door made the monkeys' ears twitch. "What is it?" Lanius called. Servants had stopped charging into the rooms where his animals lived. He'd persuaded them he was deadly serious about that. Grus might rule Avornis, but in these few chambers, at least, Lanius was king in fact as well as name.
"Come quick, Your Majesty!" That was Bubulcus' voice. If he'd learned his lesson, then surely they all had.
Lanius didn't feel like leaving. "What is it?" he repeated.
"Come quick!" Bubulcus said again - that and no more.
Muttering under his breath, Lanius left the monkeys. The hallway outside was noticeably chillier than their room. His voice was also chilly as he repeated himself once more. "What is it? And why didn't you tell me what it was the first time I asked you?"
"Why? On account of I didn't want to yell it all over everywhere, is why." As usual, Bubulcus was full of invincible self-righteousness. But before Lanius could lose his temper, the servant went on, "Prince Ortalis and Her Majesty the Queen - the queen your wife, I mean, not the queen your mother-in-law - are having a demon of a row. If you can help fix it - "
"Oh, by the gods!" Lanius set off at a dead run. Ortalis hadn't fought with Sosia for a while now, but Ortalis in a temper was dangerous to everyone around him. Of that King Lanius had no doubt at all.
Sosia and her brother were shouting at each other when Lanius hurried into the chamber to which their racket had drawn him. Bubulcus prudently stayed several paces behind the king. To Lanius' relief, it was just shouting; Ortalis didn't seem to have struck out with open hand or fist. "What's going on here?" Lanius demanded.
Grus' son rounded on him. "Maybe she's not the liar after all," he said. "Maybe you are."
"And maybe you're a gods-cursed idiot," Lanius snapped. Ortalis' jaw dropped; Lanius was not in the habit of matching his rudeness. The king continued, "You're certainly acting like one. What is all this senseless commotion about?"
"Somebody blabbed," Ortalis said sullenly. "Somebody told Father what everybody promised nobody would say."
"I keep telling you, I didn't," Sosia said.
"Neither did I," Lanius said. "That leaves Anser."
"He says he didn't, either." Ortalis' eyes flashed furiously.
"But
somebody
did, because Father sure knows now. I can tell. He's been giving me these looks, and these little lectures, and I can't stand it anymore. He hardly even knows he's doing it, but he is, and I'm about ready to pop."
"I didn't have anything to do with it," Sosia said.
"I gave my oath I wouldn't, as long as you kept your side of the bargain," Lanius said, and then,
"Have
you kept it?"
"Yes!" Ortalis said - all but howled. "I've kept my mouth shut, and I haven't done - anything. But Father found out. I don't know how. Somebody must have told him. And it had to be one of you three." He glared at Lanius, then at Sosia. Had Anser been there, he would have glared at him, too.
"We
didn't," Lanius said, pointing first to himself, then to his wife. "And if Anser says he didn't, too, then he probably didn't. He wouldn't lie about something like that."
"Somebody did," Ortalis repeated. "Somebody must have."
"Maybe he found out by magic," Lanius suggested. "He could have done that all by himself."
Some - a little - of the rage faded from Ortalis' eyes. "Maybe," he said grudgingly. "I hadn't thought of that. Maybe it's true. I can try to find out, anyway." Some of the tightness and stiffness seeped from his spine. He no longer seemed on the point of throwing himself at his sister - or at Lanius. In fact, he gave Lanius a nod that seemed almost friendly. "Thanks."
"You're welcome," Lanius answered, but he was talking to Ortalis' back.
"I haven't seen him have a spell like that for a long time," Sosia said once the door had closed behind Grus' son.
"I wouldn't be sorry never to see another one," Lanius said. "You can't tell what he's going to do when he's in a temper." To him, nothing was more damning than lack of predictability.
"If I were Father, I'd try to arrange it so that Ortalis didn't find out about any magic he worked," Sosia said.
"If I were your father, I wouldn't have let Ortalis know I knew anything out of the ordinary," Lanius replied. Then he shrugged. "Something like that, though ... If you know, how can you help showing you know?"
"I wish we didn't know." Sosia grimaced. "I wish there weren't anything
to
know. I wish - I wish Ortalis were just like everybody else."
"Too much to hope for," Lanius said.
"He
has
been better," Sosia said. Lanius nodded, for that was true. She went on, "Even here, he didn't lose all of his temper. And he calmed down when you gave him an explanation he hadn't thought of." Lanius nodded again. His wife sounded like a woman lavishing praise on a poor child that finally stammered out "Mama" at six or seven. He started to say as much, but then noticed Sosia's eyes were bright with tears.
He kept quiet.
Crex came in a few minutes later. Pitta pattered after him. He was tossing a leather ball stuffed with feathers up into the air and catching it - or, more often, dropping it. When he did, Pitta would grab it. Crex got it back and threw it in Lanius' direction. The king reached for it but missed. Before Crex could run after it and pick it up, Sosia grabbed him and gave him a fierce hug. She didn't seem to want to let him go.